


Not Just the Moon

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Blaise is really just honorable mention, F/M, Werewolf Mates, because he's a twat, potion consult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 05:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: Hermione's furious with Blaise for being a twat and taking off for the weekend early, leaving Harry to take on an extra assignment alone, and cancel a blind date she'd set up for him. Harry's night may not have turned out as bad as it could have...





	Not Just the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).

> For my dear dear Frumpologist. You said it right: soul-twin. You're the mom I hope I am when little miss is all grown up, you're the endlessly kind, patient, encouraging, and enthusiastic friend I always want to be. My Rebels, Dark Disciple, Revenge of the Sith Novelization and all around fellow Star Wars fun/trivia friend.  
I would have given up writing were you and LK not there to encourage me as I ventured into rare pairs. <3  
Thank you for being you, a shining Hufflepuff in my life.  
Happy Birthday <3 
> 
> This story is completely tropy, and has some sexual content and was written as a bday present, so plot is minimal.  
Alpha LOVE LOVE LOVE to LadyKenz347 and so much beta gratitude to ravenslight. You ladies are gems

* * *

Harry was pissed.

Harry was  _ so _ pissed.

It wasn’t enough that his twat of a partner, Zabini, had left him high and dry with mounds of paperwork to have completed over the weekend—in triplicate, mind you—while he’d smirked about a weekend away with his witch in an Italian villa (because  _ Zabini _ had a witch—Ginny Weasley, actually—and went to great pains to flaunt it as often as possible), but Robards quite literally had come and dumped a brand new case on his desk at four forty-five, fifteen minutes before leaving for the weekend.

Not that said weekend would be worth much with all this paperwork.

But Hermione had set him up on a blind date... and if nothing else, Harry had been thinking it could have been a good excuse for a decent lay.

That was clearly not in the cards tonight. 

Brooding scowl twisting across his face, Harry stalked to his office fireplace, snatching a handful of Floo powder and throwing it with a great deal more force than necessary. “Hermione?!” Yes, he’d yelled and had taken some of his frustration out on an innocent, third-party fireplace, but, in case the point hadn’t been made, Harry was pissed off. 

“What are you still doing at work, Harry?” Hermione’s face appeared in the flames, riotous curls spilling all around, appearing more like cackling fractals of bursting magic than locks of hair. “I thought you were trying to leave at half four to get ready for your date?” 

“About that…” Harry started, trailing off as he grasped the back of his neck, rubbing hard, anger melting at the worried furrow of Hermione’s brows. 

“Not again, Harry.” She shook her head, raking a hand through her hair, sighing at the defeated sight of a friend nearly ready to throw in the towel. “What’s happened this time?” 

Harry lifted a file to cover his face, giving it an exaggerated wave. “Robards dropped this off and wants me to make some headway with it before leaving.” 

“Did Robards specifically assign it to you or is this something Blaise can handle on his own?” 

“Prick’s been gone for half an hour already.” And remembering that simple fact was enough to raise his hackles all over again… 

Hermione swore on the other end of the flames. “I’ll be having words with Draco about him,” she finally huffed. “Where’s the sod off to this time?” 

Harry shrugged. “Family villa I think,” he answered as flippantly as he could manage, trying to regain composure. “Look, I’m really sorry about this, all right. I’m not doing this on purpose, and I’m not avoiding your attempts to help…” 

“I know.” Hermione shrugged too. “And maybe I’m partially to blame for placing so much pressure on these blind dates—” 

“You’re not!” Harry interjected, quick to reassure his best friend he was appreciative before she spiralled down the hole of self-lecture and loathing. “I know you mean well, and I swear I’ve not been avoiding things… Just how it’s all worked out, I suppose.”    
  
Another sigh, and something that looked an awful lot like sorrow blinked back at him in the flames. “I suppose so. Do you mind if I try to see if this one wants to reschedule instead of cancel altogether? I really think you two will have a good time.” 

“That’s fine.” Harry’s head bobbed as he carded a hand through his unruly, end-of-the-day mess of hair. “Any chance you’ll tell me who she is ahead of time this time?” 

  
“Not a chance.” His friend winked on the other side, somehow working to improve Harry’s mood. “And I decline from saying anything else about her, lest you fancy yourself smart and try to deduce her identity.” 

“Hey!” Harry waved the file in front of his face again. “Auror, remember? I’m plenty smart, Madam Malfoy-to-be Unspeakable.” 

The two chortled and sniggered as only decade long friends could, their laughter fading until it ended with Hermione shooting a  _ look _ through the flames. A look that he knew meant he best brace himself, because Hermione Jean Granger always had a knack for getting to the heart of issues.

“I’m only going to ask this once…” 

_ Uh oh.  _ “I may or may not believe you,” he interjected with a flippant wave of his hand, “but ask away, Hermione.” 

“Right.” She gnawed on her lip while she tipped her head to the side. “You’re absolutely certain none of this has anything to do with Ginny and Blaise dating?” 

_ ...Merlin, no _ . “For the one thousandth time—” 

“I haven’t asked you bef—”

Harry lifted a silencing hand. “No. I know you haven’t. But Molly has. Ron has. Percy awkwardly tried to once. Arthur has. Andromeda… Hell, even Blaise a few times in the beginning, and then Ginny the last time I went out for celebratory drinks with everyone after her match.” He looked directly into fire, needing this question to be answered and done with forever. “We’ve been broken up for years. It was only strange when she and Blaise started dating because he was being all secretive about it at first, and I was teasing him about finding a shag partner. But once it was out there and we agreed to never talk each other’s shag lives again, it’s been fine.” 

“Honest?”    


“Yes,” he answered with a sharp nod. “We didn’t last more than a few months after the war, and on my honour I’ve been moved on from that for years now.” 

“All right.” Her smile was small and thoughtful. “I just had to ask. I don’t mean to sound like you need someone to complete your life—you know I don’t think that for anyone. But I know you, Harry, and—”

“I know.” He cut her off, leaning closer to the flames. “I wouldn’t let you keep trying for these blind dates if I didn’t know you had only the best of intentions.” 

Her smile broadened, and his heart seemed lighter somehow, impossibly enough, because there was still the matter of an unopened file in his hand. “Look, see if she’ll reschedule, yeah? I’ll make sure nothing gets in the way next time and take every measure necessary to let Blaise know how much he owes me.” 

If it was even possible, Hermione’s face lit brighter than the flames, some telling sort of ember glowing in her eyes. “Oh, I think she will. She’s that sort of person.” 

“What? Desperate, married to the job, pathetic, and otherwise in need of a good fu—” 

“Harry!” The teasing disapproval in her huff rolled over him in warm waves, and he found himself very thankful for this found sister-witch in his life. “However the date goes is for the two of you to decide, but I think… I think you’ll find she’s more than a convenient body for a single night. I hope, at least.” 

“I’m sure she’s brilliant,” he reassured. “All the others I managed to meet with up to this point have been, too, but nothing clicked, you know?” She nodded, and his gaze flickered back to his desk, dread sinking into his veins. “Look, I need to see what Robards has left me with, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow or Sunday.” 

“All right, Harry.” She offered a wave. “Thanks for understanding I’m not trying to be a nag.” 

“Of course.” He winked as he backed away from the flames. “Maturity and growth and all that. Hermione Granger always knows best, even in the case of Draco Malfoy.” 

Laughter again filled his office as they ended the call, and Harry padded back to his desk, hopeful that this new case would be a simple enough matter.

* * *

Potions. 

Bloody  _ potions _ . 

The case involved some obscure potion a disgruntled neighbour claimed the man next door was brewing with the explicit intent of giving him nightmares every night. He’d come in and given Robards a list of ingredients he swore he smelled and had seen the wizard bringing into his flat. On dark and rainy nights. Like the suspicious fiend he apparently was…

“The guy’s probably a real nutter,” Harry muttered to himself, groaning as he read through the ridiculous list again. 

Harry remained shite at potions all these years later. He’d known enough to scrape by with an ‘E’ in spite of everything fifth year for the O.W.L. examination, but sixth year… There had been  _ the  _ book, not to mention Slughorn’s adoration and fawning, and Harry honestly hadn’t paid too much attention, all in all. He’d drifted through the class as easily as floating on a breeze astride his broomstick, and then there’d been a war, followed by an immediate entry into Auror training. 

All of which he knew Hermione wouldn’t consider an excuse for having an average knowledge of potions, but it was all highly logical, and Harry felt utterly and completely justified in conjuring a Patronus to send his friend a voice message. 

“Didn’t know if I’d be able to catch you via Floo. Would you be available to assist with a potions inquiry later this evening?” 

His stag pranced away, bounding and leaping, hopefully not delaying too long before reaching its destination. It was laughable that he’d had to miss out on the potential delights a pleasant evening with a potentially pretty witch for… for… all this bollocks. This case contained nothing so pressing and urgent it couldn’t have been delayed until Monday. Monday when Blaise would be back and Harry could make him take the lead on it in return for all the paperwork he’d up and left Harry with while he was off having a shag-a-thon with—

_ Nope!  _

Harry shook himself. It didn’t matter that Blaise and Ginny had been committedly non-committed for the past four years, nor did it matter that Harry and Ginny had only had a handful of  _ intimate _ experiences together. He’d simply rather not entertain the thoughts of what his Auror partner and ex-girlfriend were getting up to in their private life. 

Boundaries and all that. 

He tapped his quill impatiently over a scrap piece of parchment he’d been making notes on when a pearlescent eagle swooped through his closed office door, landing in an arrogant huff atop a stack of files on Harry’s desk. 

Harry groaned as the bird opened its beak and the irritated drawl of one Draco Malfoy filled the room:  _ My witch is happily occupied with a previous engagement and entirely unable to assist you at this time, as am I. I’d be insulted you didn’t think to consult me, a practicing Potion Master and professor of the subject, but I’m what’s keeping said witch occupied. Since we’re both unavailable for the duration of the evening, I suggest you seek the assistance of a nearby apothecary. I recall one or two in Diagon Alley remain open until fairly late in the evening.  _

The bird glared at him before dissipating into ethereal dust, leaving Harry scowling at the stack it vanished from.

_ Bollocks everything _ , Harry thought. In addition to not sitting down to a hot meal in a restaurant with a dinner companion, he’d now be trolling cracks and crevices of Diagon Alley to see if there were any potion shops still open and available to provide him necessary assistance. 

Because he would  _ not  _ be working on this nonsense tomorrow if it could be completed tonight. His irritating work ethic and need to please his boss would see he had no rest tonight until he’d followed through with whatever available trails there were to be found. 

Scowling, he shoved back from his desk, snatching his coat while aiming and yelling a shrinking spell over the stacks of files that needed to go home with him. A quick trip through the Floo to drop everything off, then to Diagon Alley he would go. 

Hoping all the while that this would be a fairly quick and painless affair. 

* * *

It wasn’t quick. 

And it certainly wasn’t painless. 

Harry had found himself pressing his face against the glass of two different apothecaries already, searching through windows into the darkened establishments for any sign of life, finding nothing. 

It was a strangely busy evening for Diagon Alley—and when in the name of Merlin had two different potions establishments been added to this ancient street without him knowing about it? Had it truly been that long since he’d just taken a simple stroll about the streets that had so enthralled him as a child? 

Perhaps it had. 

Harry shrugged off whatever cloud of melancholy and gloom that threatened to hover and burst over him. A kind stranger had taken pity on him outside the last potion shop, giving him directions for one more stop that might still be open this evening. It was apparently relatively new and out of the way of heavy daily foot traffic, out near Ollivander’s. He’d give this one last try for the evening before throwing in the towel and drowning his ire in shots and an order of fish ‘n’ chips. This  _ could _ be Blaise’s problem come Monday, and something in that delighted Harry’s sense of justice and fairness. 

Also his occasional need for revenge…

Fine,  _ mostly _ his need for revenge at this point in time, which Harry knew was petty. But then again, not only was he still referred to as the ‘Chosen One’ and ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, but he had an entire year of seniority over Blaise… and perhaps that was something he could and  _ should _ take full advantage of…

His eyes narrowed to the familiar hanging sign before reaching Ollivander’s. If he were to keep walking, ignoring what he believed to be a new establishment just before reaching the wand shop at the end of the sidewalk, he’d find himself at Ollivander’s. It seemed impossible that it had been more than ten years since Hagrid had lead him into the shop that changed his life, changed everything, really. 

He stopped abruptly at a quaint little establishment and immediately decided if it weren’t for the circumstances this would be a place he’d find himself curious to enter. Painted over the bright blue door in equally bright blue looping and swooping letters was the name  _ Twined With Thyme _ . The store was lit from within, everything golden through the large display window. From his vantage point on the sidewalk, several shelves appeared stocked and well kept, and he could see a lithe blonde form bobbing and bustling about… 

A very familiar shade of blonde gathered back in a long, loose plait...

_ Wait a moment… _

Harry reached for the doorknob; a delicate bell tinkled overhead as he pushed through the door. “Luna?” he called out, bewildered to say the least.

“Be with you in half a moment,” she answered, wiping a rag across a shelf before waving her wand and commanding a circle of bottles and vials to restock themselves on the shelf. “Well done, everyone,” she said, her voice as dotty and ethereal as he remembered, but  _ Godric _ , he hadn’t seen Luna since—

“Harry!” She tucked her wand into her braid as she turned, wiping her hands against each other. He crossed the threshold completely, releasing the door to close behind him while Luna made her way to him, a beaming smile spreading across her face. “What a lovely surprise! It’s been ages and—  _ oh! _ ”

The witch stopped short, pale blue eyes widening impossibly more so by the second, her nostrils flaring before she took a larger step towards Harry. She stopped just shy of where Harry would be able to reach across the space between them and wind his arms around her dainty waist…

Which wasn’t too weird a thought to think, was it? It had been several years since he’d seen her, the day of the Final Battle at Hogwarts to be precise. He’d heard she’d been at St. Mungo’s for some time in the immediate aftermath, but by the time Harry had returned to Britain from Australia with Hermione, Luna had already been discharged, and he’d heard she’d gone to the continent… So, why  _ shouldn’t _ he want to greet her with the embrace of a long-lost friend? 

Harry permitted himself the briefest of moments to trace his gaze down then back up the petite witch’s body—to ensure she looked healthy and well after all these years, of course. Because anything more would be inappropriate for a friend one hadn’t seen in so long, one who’d been so kind, selfless, easy-going, and otherwise too pure for this world. Forcing his eyes back to hers, where they needed to remain for the duration of his visit, he was startled to find the blue orbs flashing. 

Gold flecked amidst bright blue, her head tilted as she drew heavy breaths. 

His lips parted, an inquiry regarding her health on the tip of his tongue—

“Mate,” she said, the word, the  _ claim _ , falling easily from her lips as she took another step towards him. 

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Pardon?” 

One step as she repeated, “ _ Mate _ .” Two steps and she was right up on him, her porcelain hands floating up to his face, her fingers warm and gentle as they skimmed over his cheek. A groan escaped his throat as he nuzzled into her touch. She hummed her approval, closing the remaining gap between them, the toe of her right shoe brushing against his left boot. “Hello, Mate,” she breathed, smiling, practically fucking  _ beaming _ .

He sucked in a sharp breath, drinking in the scent of herbs and spices he couldn’t individually name. She smelled of Christmas and some homemade soap, and he wasn’t entirely sure when his mind gave the order for his neck to bend and dip lower, for his lips to be close enough to hers to feel her warmth… 

But he must have. 

Because there she was. 

And there they were. Lips tantalisingly close, separated by unspoken questions… so many questions. But the only one he could think to ask at the moment is: “Are you…?” 

“Yes,” she answered, lifting herself up to close the remaining distance and claim his lips for her own. And claim she did. Luna pillowed his mouth with hers, angling Harry’s head to nip and suck before pressing against them with urgent passion. This seemed the best greeting Harry could ever remember, and Harry considered himself quite content to allow this to continue for the duration of the evening, but then Luna’s hands slid up into his hair, her fingers sinking and curling around unruly locks as her tongue traced along the seam of his mouth, and Harry was tasting Luna. 

He tasted treacle and all things dark and rich. Everything inviting and heavenly, and he moaned into her mouth, binding his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. It was all tongues and intertwining pleasurable groans and  _ Luna, Luna, Luna…  _

In other words, this was absolutely the most incredible first-kiss-turned-snog of Harry’s life. Correction: his only first kiss that had lead to a proper snog. 

“Window?” 

“Store room,” she murmured, throwing a wandless locking charm at the door and tugging him with her as they kissed, stumbling behind shelves but somehow managing to weave through a miniature labyrinth before making it back to a closed door, where Luna flipped their positions, urging Harry against said door. 

“Fuck, wait.” Open-mouth kisses traced down his neck, and he was lost to the need, the increasingly hardening  _ need _ to grind against her, to feel  _ her _ through the separating layers of pants, trousers, sweater, and blouse. He hissed as her hand drifted down, finding and stroking the growing bulge behind his zipper. “ _ Fuck _ … Luna…” he gasped again, trying to find a way to string together a complete sentence in the midst of such undeserved attention. “Veela, werewolf, or vampire?” he finally managed, eyes falling shut as he ground against her glorious hand. 

“Werewolf.” She nipped at his neck, laving it with her tongue before pulling her face back far enough to meet his lidded gaze, but close enough for her warm puffs of breath to tickle his chin. “Greyback. Final battle. I went to Romania after my recovery in St. Mungo’s to find a pack. Less restrictions there than here.” 

Something strangled and excited escaped his throat as Luna reached for the buttons of his trousers. “Hermione said you weren’t…” Her mouth snapped shut, throat bobbing as she stilled her movements, hesitation filling her gaze. “According to _The Daily_ _Prophet_ and Hermione, you’re not seeing anyone. Is that true?”

“There’s no one,” he answered, shaking his head, fingering a button at the bottom of her jumper. “And at the moment, I don’t particularly care if this is all because the moon is coming up in a couple of days, what it means to be a mate or not.” Both hands closed around the hem of her jumper. A thick swallow as his head dipped, his glasses slipping down his nose. “All I really need to know is whether or not you want me to fuck you against this door, love?” 

“Yes, Harry.” 

It was all the confirmation he needed before attacking the buttons of his Auror uniform while Luna tugged and yanked herself free from her jumper. They continued to lose layer after layer in a frenzied haste until they were bare before each other, chests heaving, and Luna reached for her wand, somehow still buried in her braid, and muttered a charm over her abdomen before tossing it to the pile of clothes. 

Harry wasted no time gathering her into his arms, pressing her against the door, fingers wrapping and lifting under her perfect,  _ perfect _ arse. He fancied himself as smooth and suave, taking time to adequately worship her lips, neck, and each of her pert breasts before he was unable to contain himself and thrust into her damp center. But who really knew by this point? He held her gaze as he began to move inside her, slow and tentative, finding courage, life, and meaning for existence in her succulent moans that filled the shop.

He was out of practice, and it was definitely the first time he’d taken a witch against a door, which made the rhythm feel clumsy at best, but Luna’s sighs and whimpers told him he must be doing something right. The way her arms wound around his neck, her legs squeezing against his hips… the way her head fell back against the door, exposing her neck when his hand found her clit… 

Until his name fell like a prayer and praise off her lips, and he thrust once, twice, three times more, coming with a prayerful curse, burying his face in her neck and thinking he might just have found what he’d been missing all these years. 

* * *

“So. Um... welcome back?” 

Tentative hesitation laced their mingled afterglow laughter, or maybe that was only Harry. Luna looked… luminous, really. They had sunk to the floor, Luna’s legs tangled around him, their arms loosely wrapped around each other, and Harry’s fingers were dancing over a soft patch of skin in the middle of her back, under her messy braid. Her lips were lifted in a sated smile that seemed so natural he wasn’t sure if she was aware of the way it danced up her cheeks, kissing against happy crinkles forming around her eyes. 

“Lovely to be home,” she answered, her fingers skimming a path from his back, around his ribs until they danced over his chest. “And now I’m sorry it’s taken us six months of my being back to finally meet up.” She moved her face to his, her lips kissing a delicious line from his neck to his ear. “Imagine all the fun we could have already been up to in all that time, hmm?” 

Harry groaned, angling so he could easily claim her lips for a kiss. A long kiss. A searing kiss. A kiss of lips and tongues moving in a harmonious and passionate dance. A kiss that Harry could honestly admit he never wanted to end. 

She giggled when it eventually did, and Harry, utterly and completely captivated Harry, could do nothing more but ask in a low voice if he had anything in his hair… 

“No.” She giggled again, bumping her nose to his. “It’s just… I actually shouldn’t be in the store right now. I had agreed to a blind date, something Hermione offered to set up, but imagine if he hadn’t cancelled…” 

Harry blinked once. Twice.

And once more for good measure. 

“Hermione…” he started, brain still a muddled and confused mess. But this needed to be clarified. “You allowed Hermione to arrange a blind date for you?” 

“Does that cheapen what we just did?” she asked, voice sounding worried now. She quickly kissed his nose, his cheek, and lips, eyes earnest as she pulled back, palms flat over his chest. “It shouldn’t, Harry. I mentioned feeling a bit lonely to her when we were at lunch earlier this week, missing my pack back in Romania, but I still feel like my true place is back here. It seemed there wasn’t any harm in at least meeting someone, even if he wouldn’t turn out to be my mate, but one never knows until trying, right?” 

He shook his head again, drifting closer. He was drinking her in, nuzzling his cheek to hers. “Not a thing wrong with allowing a friend who loves and knows you to step in and offer some assistance,” he murmured, eyes falling shut as his fingers lifted from that spot on her back and threaded into her full braid. “And I’m awfully sorry I had to cancel on you, love, but Robards dropped a case on my desk with fifteen minutes left on my shift, and I’d no idea how long it would take me to sort things out.” 

She stiffened ever so slightly in his arms, her breath quickening. “Pardon?” she huffed against his ear. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, smirking against her cheek. “I know it was rude to cancel last minute, but it seemed it would be even more beastly of me to get caught up and lost in something and have a witch hungry and waiting for me to likely show up late for a date.” He pulled away, gaze steadily boring into hers. “Really would have been downright uncouth of me to keep a pretty witch such as yourself waiting for me, wouldn’t it?” 

Her face drifted whatever infinitesimal distance necessary to have her lips hovering over his, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “I’d wait a lifetime for you, Mate,” and claimed his lips for her own once more. 

* * *

He was in her bed. 

Harry was in Luna Lovegood’s bed. 

And not simply occupying a side that would otherwise be empty. Not just filling unused space, but languishing on the left side of the bed. His usual side. Lavishing in the aftermath of a longer, slower shag.

One where he’d been able to take his time. One full of exploration and discovery. 

Full of savouring. 

Night had fallen, the white glow of an almost full moon streaming through pretty and feminine curtains. Luna had exchanged the full light of the room for the intimate flames of several candles. They cast lazy shadows across the room, adding to the ambiance of all-around coziness and belonging. 

Harry liked feeling he belonged somewhere.

Luna had been tracing over his naked chest for… ages now, for all Harry knew. It may have been forever, and everything else before this had just been a dream he’d finally woken from. Minimal amount of focus had allowed him to determine the repeated pattern of her tracings:  _ mate… mate… mate… mate…  _

A knot caught in his throat, threatening to choke all air from his being. She’d changed. Luna had been marked by the war, the same as all of them. And she’d had to leave to deal with it all in her own way, but the essence of Luna, that brilliant, open, honest, caring, compassionate welcoming, generous, and a thousand other adjectives he’d spend a lifetime adding to the list… all of that hadn’t been taken from the war. 

She’d survived and come through the victor. 

Could he ever possibly deserve a witch like this? Would anything he had to offer ever be—

“What brought you to my store, Harry?” 

“Hmm?” Her store. There had been a reason for him to cross the threshold into her life other than the fact that she was Luna and she was… “Oh.” He rubbed an eye under his glasses, surrendering to a quick yawn. “I had a potions question for a case.” 

Her answering laugh reminded him of a bell tinkling over a door. “You never really were much for that class, were you?” 

He barked a laugh of his own, grasping and twining her tracing hand with his, bringing them to his lips for the purpose of pressing a kiss to their joined fingers. “Not at all,” he hummed against her skin, kissing the back of her hand, running his thumb over hers. 

“That’s all right. You more than made up for it in Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Luna’s face lifted, and the look in her eyes in the glow of the candles and the moon… maybe it was all a dream, and he’d wake from this beauty eventually, but Harry’d never known such contentment existed until now. She shifted, stretching to brush her lips just above his jaw. “I cast my first corporeal patronus because of you, and I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.” 

“It was all Hermione’s idea, Dumbledore’s Army and all.” 

“No, that’s not it.” She gently shook her head, squeezing his fingers. “It was thinking of you, my new friend, that helped me cast it. I thought of how you could you see Thesterals, too, and how less lonely I felt knowing that. How brave you’d been in the Tri-Wizard tournament the year before, and how selfless you’d been to bring back Cedric’s body so his father could properly mourn. You’ve always been so thoughtful, even if you didn’t want to be. Little things go a long way with saying goodbye, you know?” 

A thickness settled in Harry’s chest as he nodded. “Yeah,” he managed, applying even more pressure to their intertwined fingers, just for extra reassurance. “It’s hard to convince yourself it really happened without… without something tangible. Andromeda added a headstone for Sirius in her family plot, right next to Lupin’s… one for Regulus, too.” 

“That’s thoughtful of her. Perhaps you’ll feel up to introducing us sometime…?” 

The deeper, unasked question hung delicately in the air between their faces, so it was only appropriate that Harry swallow away every last worry by closing his lips over hers, letting the rest of the world fade away. 

Nothing mattered beyond this hushed moment, this sacred space that was Luna’s bed. It hardly mattered that, on top of everything else, Harry would need to figure out what it meant to be a werewolf's mate, and he should probably get on top of Animagus training now… but Luna sighed and smiled against his lips, threading her fingers through his hair. 

So really, there was nothing else in the world that could possibly matter other than rolling over, cradling this witch, this angel and vision, under his arms, mapping every last curve of her creamy skin with his mouth and watching her writhe and come undone over and over again… 

For as long as she wanted him. 

Which he hoped, and somehow believed with all his heart, would be a very long time. 

Because Hermione was a clever enough witch; she’d thought Luna was just what Harry needed. Luna thought so, too. And Harry had long since given up fighting the good sense of such brilliant witches in his life. 


End file.
